A Need for Breathing
by Phyona
Summary: When Dean and Castiel reunite at the bunker, Cas has a nasty case of pneumonia and Dean takes care of him. (Slight AU set early season 9 in which Ezekiel healed Sam without possessing him)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:**

**I wrote this because I have pneumonia, bronchitis, and flared-up asthma, and I thought to myself "hey, if my life sucks this much balls, Cas's can too." (Sidenote: have not yet decided if there will be literal ball-sucking in this fic, but anything's possible)**

**Since I have zero desire to offer my predictions for season 9 via fanfic, I've decided to make Sam happily healed and un-possessed in this story. This shouldn't really affect the fic too greatly because all I'm trying to do is put Dean and Cas in a situation where Cas is slightly stoned, Dean is all grouchy and protective, and bed-sharing is required. Sorry not sorry.**

**I love you like Cas loves bees and ground beef.**

* * *

"Dean?"

The rasp of Cas's voice crackling through his cell phone is enough to punch a sigh out of Dean and drain the tension from his shoulders. It's an old, familiar tension, one he carries whenever Cas is gone and Dean doesn't know where he went.

"Cas, Jesus, where the hell have you been? You were supposed to check in with me. Where are you?"

"Dean, I…I'm close to the bunker now, I think, but I'm afraid I'm not feeling so well."

Dean freezes where he's pacing a hole in the floor of his bedroom, immediately clicking over into emergency mode. Now that he looks for it, he can hear exhaustion and grit in Cas's voice, and the sound makes him feel nauseous. He should have known it was stupid to leave Cas to find his own way to the bunker now that he's human, but it wasn't like he could leave Sammy in the condition he was in. Great, more guilt to crap on the shit show that is Dean Winchester's psyche.

"Damnit, Cas, what happened? Did you get attacked? Who did it? Why didn't you call me? Where are you, I'm coming there right now." Dean bursts out of his room, grabbing his jacket from where it was slung over the back of a chair and stomping his way to the garage.

"You ask a lot of questions," Cas replies dreamily. He sounds strange, unfocused.

"Right, whatever," Dean mumbles as he wrenches open the door to the impala, barreling in and tossing his jacket into the passenger seat. He jams the key into the ignition less gently than he normally would, but he's humming with nervous energy and it's setting his teeth on edge. "Just tell me where you are."

"Phone booth. On…um…Pine Street. I'm in Lebanon."

"Alright, good, I'll be there in a minute." Dean hits the button to open the garage door. When it's up, he cradles the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he backs out of the driveway. "Just hang tight there."

"Good, that's good. Though I…I'm worried I—I won't—"

"Shit, man, you sound terrible. And that's saying something for someone who talks like they've been gargling shards of glass on the best of days."

"Dean—I—"

With a thud the line abruptly goes dead.

"Cas? Cas!"

Dean growls and chucks his phone onto the jacket.

"Fuck."

It's dark, pouring rain, and the roads are slick but he guns the engine, pealing out of the driveway and fishtailing.

By the time he hits Pine St, he's leaning forward in his seat to make out anything through the windshield, despite how the wipers are going full blast. It's not long before he catches sight of the only possible phone booth Cas could've been referring to. He pulls up to it, stumbling out into the cold rain before he can think to grab his jacket.

Cas is in the booth, slumped up against the foggy Plexiglas.

"Cas! Damnit, Cas, come on," Dean snarls as he wrenches open the booth's doors and grabs onto Cas's shoulders. He shakes him. "Cas, wake up!"

Slowly, Cas's eyes blink open. They're glassy and distant.

"Hello, Dean," he rasps. Dean snorts a laugh at the familiar greeting but it sounds a little hysterical. Relief washes over him like the rain that's currently seeping through his clothes.

"Can you stand?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, let's find out."

Dean takes hold of Cas by the armpits and, with a grunt, heaves him to his feet. Immediately, Cas sways back and forth, but Dean locks an arm around his torso before he can fall. He still pitches forward, his entire weight leaning against Dean and his forehead pressed into the bend of Dean's neck. It's only then that Dean realizes that Cas is not only drenched but shivering violently. His breath is hot where it brushes against Dean's throat, and he can both hear and feel the way it rattles in Cas's chest.

"Fuck, Cas, what happened to you?"

"I'm not sure. I was ill and then it…got worse."

"Christ. I need you to walk, okay? We gotta' get you somewhere dry."

Cas nods his assent into Dean's shoulder, but when Dean tries to guide them towards the car he all but collapses, Dean just barely managing to keep him upright.

"Shit," Dean snaps, wiping rainwater out of his eyes. "Onto option two."

With a rallying breath, he reaches down and gets an arm around the back of Castiel's knees, lifting him up into a bridal carry and cursing the twinge in his back that late thirties have graced him with. The fallen angel's arms wind around Dean's neck and he snuffles blearily at the spot behind Dean's ear. Dean can feel himself blushing treacherously, but he manages to put his reaction aside for the sake of getting Cas in the damn car before things get especially hairy.

Since he left the door open in his haste to get to Cas, Dean rounds the car and gently sets Cas on the driver's seat. He pushes him across the bench until there's enough room for Dean to get in beside him. With the door shut and rain pummeling the outside of the impala rather than their bodies, Cas leans against his side, head still pillowed by Dean's shoulder.

"Move over, dude. I can't drive like this."

Cas doesn't seem to hear him.

Dean sighs roughly, ridding his face of droplets again, before he guides Cas into leaning against the passenger door. Though he groans at being manhandled, Cas still curls up with Dean's jacket against the door. He seems to pass out again because his breath evens out and his eyes close.

"Idiot," Dean mutters to himself, though he can't decide which of them he's referring to.

On the way back to the bunker he calls Sammy, just to let him know why he left without saying anything, and to warn him that he's bringing home a pile of sick ex-angel. Sam has been doing remarkably well since Ezekiel healed him up, so it figures that when one of the people he cares about most in the world is okay, the other goes spectacularly to shit.

Sam's waiting in the garage for him when he pulls in, and he rushes over to the passenger door when he catches sight of Cas with his face smooshed against the window. Cas nearly falls out onto the floor when Sam opens the door, but luckily his moose of a brother catches him before he has a nice concussion to go with whatever illness he's managed to catch.

"Sam," Cas rattles out into the fabric of Sam's chest. Dean feels a twinge of jealousy that apparently Cas's propensity to nuzzle when sick isn't specific to him. He tamps down that pathetic response pretty quickly, though, for the sake of getting his best friend taken care of.

"I wanna get him out of those clothes," he says to Sam as he rounds the car.

"At least you're finally willing to admit that."

Dean wants to slap the smirk right off his face.

"But yes, I agree. And also into a bed. Hey, that's another thing you—"

Dean cuts off his infernal brother before he can entertain himself any further.

"Right, right, you're hilarious and clever and you shit glitter wherever you go, now shut up and give me the angel."

A little more roughly than is probably wise, Dean peels Cas from Sam's chest and picks him up again as he had done before. Sam's eyebrows arch up his forehead, but he astutely keeps his mouth shut and holds open the door to the bunker instead.

"Where are we gonna' put him?" Sam asks as they make their way through the large control room. "Your bed and mine are the only ones we have made right now."

"Mine, then. I want to keep an eye on him tonight anyways. I think he has pneumonia," Dean grinds out, voice strained by the weight in his arms. Cas just snuggles against his collar like a cat.

"I think we have antibiotics. I'll go check while you get him settled," Sam says before bounding off down the hall towards the bathroom. The Winchesters always keep an impressive stock of prescriptions on hand in case of emergencies so they can avoid hospitals and doctor's offices whenever possible. Charlie had assisted in making their drug collection quite impressive by hacking into a Target's pharmacy computers and fudging prescriptions. At the moment Dean is extremely grateful for it, seeing as Castiel doesn't have a last name and certainly lacks health insurance. Better to avoid obnoxious questions from medical staff whenever possible.

When Dean finally sets Cas down on his bed, the man sighs deeply at the feeling of finally being horizontal. Dean can actually hear mucus shuddering in his chest on the exhale.

"Very comfortable," Cas mutters, his blue eyes half-lidded.

"It's memory foam," Dean announces proudly. "It remembers y—"

He's cut-off by Cas going into a nasty coughing fit, his whole body convulsing with it. The cough is gross, a combination of a bark and wet, gurgling sound. It concerns Dean greatly, but he isn't sure what to do beyond rubbing Cas's damp back through it.

"That sounds great," Dean drawls once Cas has settled down. He's grimacing and touching his chest as though it hurt him. Dean isn't surprised it did. "You're shivering pretty bad, buddy. We need to get you into some warm clothes.

"Alright."

Though Dean starts with the fairly innocuous task of removing Cas's soggy shoes, he can already feel a blush pinking the tips of his ears. He's never felt so bashful removing Sammy's clothes the few times he's had to do it during emergencies, and he doesn't want to dwell on why undressing Cas is a totally different ballgame.

Cas has managed to shrug off his jacket and zip-up hoodie by the time Dean's tossed his shoes and socks towards the door. He's winded from the effort, as though he's just run a marathon rather than stripped.

"Do you…uh…want me to help with…your—" Dean stutters, gesturing twitchily to Cas's fly. Cas looks at him curiously, eyes glistening with fever, but just as his lips part to reply, Dean is saved by his buffalo of a brother coming into the room.

"Alright I've got an inhaler, some…uh…'Lev-o-flax-in,' which is an antibiotic, and Tylenol with codeine to knock out that fever and _you_ for the next few hours."

Cas blinks a few times.

"Congratulations, Cas. You're about to enjoy the wonder of controlled opiates for the first time," Dean remarks, standing and heading to his dresser to find Cas a t-shirt and some pajama pants.

"Thank you," Cas says behind him. Dean shakes his head as he picks a particularly comfy pair of flannel P.J.s from his drawer.

Apparently being human has not graced Cas with modesty, because when Dean turns around he finds himself confronted with the sight of Cas struggling to shuck off his wet jeans from where they're tangled on his ankles. Dean's face instantly burns hot.

"You want some help with that?" Sammy offers, not sounding the least bit affected. Dean bristles and he's not sure why.

"You get him set with the meds, Sasquatch. I've got his clothes right here."

Sam shoots Dean an obnoxiously knowing look, but does as he's told. He puts the pill bottles and inhaler down on the bedside table, handing Cas the glass of water he brought in with him.

"You've gotta' take one of these a day until they run out," Sam instructs as he hands Cas the antibiotic. Dean wrestles with getting the jeans off Cas's feet as he talks, trying to make his touch as platonic as possible. "Does your chest hurt?"

Both Cas and Dean nod. Dean heard what that cough sounds like. The man needs some damn codeine. Cas takes off his wet shirt, as though showing Sam his bare chest will demonstrate his pain.

"Then take one of these every eight hours unless it starts to really hurt, then ask me or Dean and we'll let you know if you can take another one. Don't take any more unless we tell you to though, okay?"

"Yes, Sam."

Dean takes Cas's wet jeans, shirt, hoodie, and jacket, and hangs them by the door while Sam teaches Cas how to swallow pills.

"That's good," Sam praises once Cas has them down. "If you're having real trouble breathing just ask Dean and he'll show you how to use the inhaler."

"Thank you, Sam." Cas offers Sam a dazed smile, sinking further into the bed.

"Are your…are your drawers wet?" Dean asks as casually as he can manage, though the words end up coming out crotchety and bizarre just to spite him. Cas cants his head.

"He means your boxers. Are they wet too? Do you need to borrow boxers?" Sam seems to be translating since Dean apparently can't talk about another dude's underwear without going all coy teenage girl on them. To be fair, Cas is wearing _white_ boxers, for fuck's sake. Dean's abundantly grateful they aren't more obviously wet.

"Oh, um…yes."

"Okay. Dean will help take them off for you. I'm going to bed." Sam shoots Dean a shit-eating grin and saunters out of the room like he's the king of the goddamn universe. "Feel better, Cas!" he shouts from the hall.

"If I committed fratricide no one would blame me," Dean mutters under his breath.

"What did Sam mean? I don't need help taking these off—" Cas explains, and by way of demonstration pushes his boxers right down his legs and kicks them to the side.

Dean's brain completely shorts out for a few seconds.

When it finally does come back online it's as though his mind moves extremely fast to catch up from the time it's lost. He tosses the t-shirt and pants he brought for Cas right at his head, and he's across the room in a millisecond, yanking a pair of boxer briefs from his drawer. He chucks those at him as well.

"Jesus fuck, Cas, you can't just go around flashing everyone just because you're sick. I don't know what sort of weird shit you angels got up to in heaven but on Earth we call that crap a misdemeanor."

"But you're the only one here."

"Exactly!" Dean's breath is coming in short pulls and he knows his face is tomato red.

"I don't understand. Is my body not…is there something wrong with it?"

"What? No!"

"But you said—"

"I just…no, that's not it, okay? Take my word for it. But will you please just put on the damn boxers before I have a stroke?!"

That seems to get Cas moving, and though his body is sluggish and uncooperative under the fever, he manages to dress himself while Dean glares daggers at the ceiling.

"Get under the covers, okay?" Dean says, attempting to make his voice less shrill. He tries viciously to forget the image of his best friend, dick out, sprawled on his bed like he belonged there. Or the fact that _his_ boxer briefs are now very intimate with Cas's junk. He figures Cas's failing health is the best distraction.

Dean guides his friend under the sheets and blankets, tucking them over his shoulder when he settles on his side. Sitting on the bed near Cas's stomach, Dean flattens his palm across Cas's forehead to check his temperature.

"You're burning up."

"I feel very strange."

"I'll bet. You wanna' tell me how you got this bad and why you didn't think to call me sooner?" Dean levels him with a chiding stare.

"You were worried about Sam. He's your priority and I didn't want to bother you."

Dean resists the urge to flick Cas on the nose.

"That is stupidest thing anyone has ever said…ever."

"I find that hard to believe."

Dean ignores him.

"You listen to me and you listen good: if you ever need me, really need me, I'm there, okay? No matter what. You call me right away and I got you. The only thing that 'bothers' me is when my best friend gets his stupid ass a cold and lets it turn into pneumonia because he doesn't think to call me and ask for help."

"I like when you say that."

Dean starts to reply but pauses when he takes in Cas's expression. He looks wistful and strangely calm, which is hardly the reaction Dean was going for with his mini-speech.

"When I say what?"

"'Best friend.' Such an interesting way of putting that. 'Best.' I hardly think I'm the best of friends, considering all of the mistakes I've made, but I suppose I am _your_ best friend since you don't have terribly many. Still, I like that. 'Best friend.' You're my best friend, too."

Dean narrows his eyes.

"Cas, are you stoned?"

"It would seem so, yes. All of the sudden the world seems to have slowed down and I have a tingling sensation in my limbs."

Dean is instantly reminded of the Castiel in his Zachariah-induced vision; the pill-popping hippy with an affinity for orgies. Though that Cas was very different than the groggy, sickly one before him, he still vows to hide the pills from him once the pneumonia clears up. He likes his Cas the way he is, thank you very much. And if the idea of Cas bumping uglies with a bunch of chicks makes his skin crawl, that's his issue to repress in private.

"Oh, that feels very nice," Cas coos. The way his chest rumbles almost sounds like he's purring. Somehow Dean's hand started carding through Cas's damp, unruly hair without his knowledge. Cas seems to be enjoying it though, so he can't bring himself to stop.

"I need you to drink a lot of fluids, okay? And just stay in bed. I'm gonna' sleep on the couch tonight and keep an eye on you." Dean gestures to the loveseat he'd recently dragged into his room to make it even homier. It won't be the first time he's slept on a couch way too small for his body, so he'll manage.

"But this is _your_ bed," Cas says quietly, his eyes closed from Dean's gentle ministrations on his scalp.

"You can borrow it." The corner of his lips curls into a smile.

"There's enough room to share," Cas mumbles. Dean's hand stills on Cas's head, his eyes bulging. "And I'm cold." He shivers and pulls the blankets tighter.

"Not a good idea, Cas. Would be weird."

"Weird? Why?"

"I shouldn't have to explain that to you."

"Oh…my apologies." Cas seems to curl in on himself, drawing his head away from Dean's hand, his brow furrowed. Dean's doesn't like it.

"No, don't apologize just…I'll be right there if you need me. And I'll get you another blanket if you're cold. You probably have the chills." In an effort to mask how flustered Cas made him with his bed-sharing request, Dean goes back to raking his fingers through Cas's hair, making it even more hectic (and adorable) than usual.

"I hate being human," Cas slurs after a few moments. He sounds half-conscious.

"Welcome to the club."

After lulling Cas to sleep with a few more rounds of scalp-scratches, Dean gets up and retrieves him another blanket. He tucks Cas in well, vaguely reminded of doing the same for Sammy when he got sick in their childhood. A part of Dean revels in being able to care for someone like this again, and he's damn good at it, if he says so himself. It makes him feel useful.

With the light off for Cas there's not much Dean can do to entertain himself as he lounges on the loveseat. He's not exactly comfortable, but he did change out of his wet clothes and into sleep clothes once he was certain Cas was out cold. Though he's buzzing with lingering nerves and a strong desire to protect, he manages to fall asleep eventually. Still, the troubling sound of Cas's labored breathing keeps it shallow, his body tense and vigilant.

A few hours later, the rasping moan of the words "please, stop" snaps Dean back into waking and he's on his feet before he's fully aware what's happening. Cas is twitching and quivering on the bed, painful groans gurgling from his throat. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Cas?" Dean asks, frantic, immediately at his side. He sits on the bed and grabs Cas's shoulder. "Cas, wake up!"

"Dean, I'm sorry, Dean. Dean, please."

"I'm right here, man. Come on, wake up." He jostles Cas with the hand on his shoulder, using his other palm to feel Cas's forehead. The skin is clammy and hot.

Finally, Cas's eyelids part, his eyes finding Dean's in the low light. For a moment, Dean catches such sadness and hopelessness in the gaze that it steals the breath from him and lodges a lump in his throat. But before he can latch onto it for enough to start processing, Cas goes into a vicious coughing fit. Dean holds onto him as he battles for breath, desperately trying to clear his airways of the sludge clogging them.

"Fuck, maybe I should just take you to the hospital."

"No, don't!" Cas pleads on a gasp. "Please, don't. I don't want to, I—"

"Okay, okay, calm down. Just breathe, buddy."

With Dean's palm sliding slowly, tenderly up and down Cas's chest, the ex-angel finally manages to calm down. Cas places his hand on top of Deans, holding it against his solar plexus after a moment. He carefully clears his throat.

"That was very unpleasant."

Dean huffs.

"Really? Because it looked like a hell of a party from where I'm sitting."

"You're hilarious," Cas deadpans. It's an especially good deadpan since his voice is utterly wrecked.

"Aw jeez, Cas. You really know how to make a guy blush."

"I know a great many things, but I'm quite certain that is not one of them."

"Well, you know how to make _me_ blush and that's all that matters."

Cas tilts his head slightly, eyes appraising.

Dean wishes he could snatch up the words with a net and stuff them back down his throat.

"So, uh, you had a pretty bad nightmare," Dean remarks, brilliant evasion skills at work. Cas immediately lets go of whatever he was contemplating, his expression closing off and going cold.

"Since I…_fell_, I have many of them."

"That's right, you wouldn't have dreamt as an angel, would you? What are they about? You said my name a couple times, you know."

Cas's eyes bug out like Dean's just caught him stealing his pie. As soon as the look of abject panic spreads across Cas's face, however, he reels it in and closes off once more.

"I'd rather not talk about it, thank you."

"Whatever, man, it's cool. Fuck knows I have plenty of dreams I'd rather saw off my foot than chat about." Dean shrugs and ruffles Cas's hair to shake the frown from his brow. "Why don't you take another codeine? It'll help you sleep. And I think it'd be a good idea if I teach you how to use the inhaler."

Cas nods, gingerly propping himself up on his elbow. Dean pops the bottle of codeine and shakes one out onto his fingers. "Open up," he orders Cas, offering a smile. Cas's lips part and he eyes Dean suspiciously. Dean pops the pill right into his mouth and puts the glass of water to his lips for him to swallow it down. He recognizes distantly that his behavior is stupidly intimate, but he figures he's earned it after the near heart attack Cas gave him with that coughing fit.

"Good?"

"Yes."

"Alright, then let's teach you how to take this inhaler." He grabs it from the nightstand and pulls it from the box, removing the cap from the mouthpiece. Without giving much warning he pushes the mouthpiece between Cas's lips, continuing to hold onto it. Cas blinks a few times but doesn't spit it out. "Now, when I tell you to, you're gonna' take a deep breath and I'll push the button. The medicine is gonna' puff into your mouth and you need to suck it into your lungs, okay?"

Cas gives a small nod.

"Okay. Ready? Go."

Cas is a natural when it comes to taking instructions, so Dean isn't surprised when he takes the medicine perfectly. And if the way Cas's plump lips wrap around the inhaler sends a warm tingle down Dean's spine, well that's no one's business but his.

"I feel lightheaded," Cas breathes when he exhales, collapsing down onto his pillow.

"Yeah, that tends to happen. Does it feel better though?"

Cas drags in a slow, deep breath.

"I think so."

"Good. We'll give you another dose if you wake up again. Think you can get back to sleep now?"

"I'm not terribly optimistic." Cas looks exhausted, downtrodden.

"What do you need?"

When Cas looks up at Dean, puppy dog eyes blazing in full force, Dean thinks he'd do just about anything the man asked, even if it meant tap-dancing in women's panties or kicking himself in the face. Cas licks his lips before speaking and Dean tracks the movement.

"Would you…please, if you don't mind, stay in the bed with me?"

Anything except that.

"Why?"

"I'd appreciate the body heat," Cas explains rationally. "And…and your presence is soothing."

"You'd still have my presence if I'm on the couch."

"It's not the same."

"Sorry, Cas, but no." Dean straightens up, pulling back his hand from where it was still held against Cas's chest. Dean swears he sees a flicker of something like hurt in Cas's expression, but then the ex-angel just looks irritated.

"Fine," he snaps, sliding away from Dean and turning over, showing him his back. He looks about an inch away from falling off the side of the bed, as though he couldn't get far enough away from Dean. So much for his presence being "soothing."

"It's not personal, I'm just not exactly in the business of sharing a bed with a dude, you understand?" Dean rakes hand through his hair when Cas doesn't respond. "There's no need to be a dick about it."

Cas still doesn't acknowledge him.

"You're being a baby!" he spits, pushing off the bed and stomping over to the couch. He lies on his back, arms crossed over his chest and legs hanging over the armrest. A few moments pass with Dean glowering at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at Cas's back.

When Cas breaks into another fit, Dean jumps, standing before he remembers that he's still pissed at him. He watches, tension rippling through his muscles, as Cas fights through the hacking. He clenches his fists at his side to keep himself rooted to the spot.

"Alright?" he can't help but ask when the coughing calms down.

Cas coils in on himself, and Dean just barely makes out the smallest whimper of pain.

And just like that, his resolve crumbles.

He rubs his hands across his face roughly a few times before growling in surrender and trudging across the room to the bed. Before he can let years of hard-grained, masculine instinct alter his decision, he climbs in behind Cas, turning his back on him.

"If you tell anyone about this, _especially_ Sam, I'll shave off your eyebrows while you're sleeping," he threatens, pulling his knees toward his chest and scowling.

"Agreed," Cas says quietly from behind him, sounding way too satisfied for his own good.

"You'd better get the best night's sleep of your fucking life."

What's patently ridiculous is Cas seems to go ahead and do just that. Within minutes his breathing evens out with a contented sigh, body going limp. As much as Dean hates to admit it, he's relieved and almost flattered that his proximity helped Cas in this way, especially when he needs sleep more than anything else to get better right now. What's even more surprising is how quickly sleep finds Dean, how naturally the tempo of Cas's breathing soothes him into pleasant dreams.

It's not until Dean wakes up, however, with his arm wrapped around a warm body and nose pressed into soft, dark hair, that he realizes just how well and truly fucked he is.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**Part two coming soon!**

**I love you so much I'd slaughter half my family and eat a butt ton of purgatory souls just to keep the apocalypse from fucking up your life :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: Alright, so...this fic was only meant to be two chapters but after 9-03 and the twitter drama I got much more invested in this puppy than I was ever planning to be. I would guess there will be one or two more chapters, but it's entirely possible that my withered Destiel feels will prolong this fluff fest even more.  
**

**I love you like Charlie loves Star Wars and boobs.**

* * *

"_Shit_," Dean hisses to himself once he's fully awake. Every breath he takes dazes him with a heady dose of the ex-angel's scent; a mix of fever sweat, rain, and something new that he doesn't yet recognize. Castiel grumbles at the sound of his voice, and Dean realizes he probably should have been quieter if he wished to avoid a very awkward conversation about how he is currently _spooning his best friend_.

Though Cas is warm and Dean's more comfortable than he's been in a long damn time, he slowly begins pulling his arm back. Cas, however, in his unconscious state, doesn't seem to find that agreeable because he takes hold of Dean's wrist and drags him even closer.

With his hips now firmly slotted against the curve of Cas's ass, Dean decides discretion is no longer a priority if he wishes to keep some shred of his dignity intact.

"Cas, let go," he whispers against the man's nape. Cas shivers at his words but does not release his wrist.

"Cas, give me back my arm," he says louder, twisting his wrist in an attempt to wriggle out of the man's hold.

"No, thank you," Cas mutters through sleep-heavy lips. Dean rolls his eyes.

"Damnit, Cas, let go!" Dean's heart is beating faster by the second, and he's concerned that, since it's morning and he's only human, his blood is going to start pumping to certain organ he'd really rather ignore.

In his panic to avoid the most unwanted, confusing boner of all time, Dean jerks his arm out of Cas's grip much harder than intended, jumping back from the bed to get as far away from the press of a male body as he can. Cas yelps, a small, croaky noise, and immediately goes into a coughing fit. Though Dean hates the harsh sound of it and the fact it was probably triggered by his actions, he stays where he is, planted to the spot and staring down at Cas where he quivers and hacks on the bed.

"Sorry," Dean offers weakly as Cas mellows.

When Cas turns to look at him, it's like a kick in the gut. His nose is bleeding sluggishly, his eyes glistening with a blend of hurt and puzzlement. It's only then that Dean realizes what he did in his haste to escape the bed.

"Oh shit, did I just punch you in the face?" he gasps, tangling his fingers in his spiky hair in horror. He dashes across the room once he breaks from the shock, snatching up a tissue from his bedside table and kneeling beside Cas on the mattress. He gently pinches the tissue to Cas's nose and instructs him to lean forward between a litany of apologies.

"What happened? What did I do?" Cas asks in nasally voice. He blinks, cross-eyed, down at the tissue.

"Nothing, you didn't do anything. I—uh—I just panicked."

"Panicked about what?" Cas's gaze slides to him. His face is so pale from the sickness it makes the color of his eyes pop, rendering them a staggering sapphire-blue. Dean's momentarily stunned.

He clears his throat and looks away before replying.

"Nothing, don't worry about it."

"I think I deserve to know what I did to merit being struck in the face, Dean." Cas scowls at him, but the effect is muted by his hair being so bed-tousled and a tissue covering half his face.

"You didn't do anything."

"Then why did you hit me?"

"Jesus, Cas, it was a friggin' accident, okay? No need for the interrogation."

"I wouldn't need to interrogate you if you answered me honestly."

Dean sputters. He can feel his face starting to flush under the pressure.

"It's none of your business. Just leave it at that."

"But it's _my_ nose that's bleeding. Surely if it's anyone's business, it's mine."

"Are you always this obnoxious when you're sick?"

Cas wilts a fraction at Dean's words, breaking eye contact.

"I wouldn't know. I've never been sick before."

Immediately, Dean feels like a piece of garbage for biting the head off his newly-human, pneumonic friend. He knows he isn't being fair and if there was ever a time to be kind to Cas, it's now.

"I didn't mean to clock you in the face, okay? Of course I didn't. But I was trying to get away from you quickly because…we…we were just too close for comfort."

"Why are you so uncomfortable with being close to me?" Cas is looking him with genuine befuddlement, his brow puckering and head canted to the side.

With a sigh, Dean removes the tissue from Cas's nose, assessing it. Luckily, the bleeding has already stopped. He delicately wipes Cas's nose and lip to remove any smeared blood, before tossing the balled-up tissue into the bin beside his nightstand. Tentatively, he places his palm on Cas's shoulder.

"It's…it's not something you would understand." Dean's words are tender, but Cas's face twists suddenly into a look of pure affront and irritation. It shocks Dean into retracting his touch.

"Fine," Cas bites, his voice gravelly.

"No, hold on, you're not—"

"Since proximity to me and my deficient character is so abhorrent to you, I suggest you leave me alone to recover my strength in private." Cas turns away from him in a jerky movement that shudders through the mattress. "And don't worry, I won't be asking you spend the night in bed with me again," he sneers, pulling the covers up to his ear and shutting his eyes tight.

"Oh, come on, Cas, don't be like that."

He doesn't respond.

"Cas?"

Nothing.

"Damnit, it's not like I didn't enjoy it!" His mouth snaps shut once the admission is out, and slaps his palm to his forehead as punishment.

"Then why did you pull away like that?" Cas asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't…I dunno, man, it was just…instinct, you know?" While he's not exactly lying, he's not being completely honest either. He prays the answer is good enough for Cas, though he seems particularly relentless on this topic.

"An instinct you don't believe I understand or share?"

"No, but I mean, come on, man, you're an angel…uh, or you were anyway. Of course we have different instincts, are comfortable with different things. Your…concepts of personal space, for instance…"

Cas rolls to face him, his eyes locking with Dean's.

"I'm not an idiot," he says. His stare narrows.

"I know."

"Also, your memory is inaccurate."

Dean turns away from Cas's penetrating gaze, busying himself with grabbing the bottle of codeine with acetaminophen and taking out a pill for him. He pops it straight into Cas's mouth again, encouraging him to drink the rest of the water along with it to keep him hydrated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean sighs, reaching to return to bottle and glass to the nightstand.

"You site my concepts of personal space, when in fact it was _you_ who was holding _me_."

Dean drops the codeine bottle onto the floor, sending white pills scuttling across the boards as his hands flail ridiculously.

"W-what? I…that's not," he sputters, quickly squatting down to collect them, and thankful for the opportunity to busy his hands and avoid meeting Cas's eyes. "I was asleep, for Christ's sake. You can't blame me for—that I was…it was just an accident." Dean drops the last pill back in the bottle and slams it down on the bedside table. He sits on the bed, bending his leg under him and crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't look at Cas. He can feel his face burning.

"But you said you enjoyed it," Cas clarifies. Dean might be imagining it, but he swears he can hear a hint of amusement in Cas's tone. It pisses him off enough to dare meeting the ex-angel's gaze.

"What's gotten into you, huh? I don't know what you want from me. You forced me to sleep with you, and in my _sleep_ I did something stupid that didn't mean anything. This is not complicated, so just let it go."

Cas blinks a few times, jerking his head back a fraction in a rather bird-like manner.

"Oh," he says quietly. "I…thought that—right, then. My apologies, I'm…not feeling well, with the fever and being mortal, so…yes, I'll 'let it go.' Sorry…I-" Cas looks to side, his expression seeming so lost and unsettled, like he doesn't know himself anymore. He takes a deep breath, coughing a few times when his lungs rattle with mucus, and turns away from Dean again.

Dean stares at the back of his head, at the tangle of dark locks and the nape of his neck. He feels wrong, like he just did something really unfair to Cas, yet finds himself unable to pinpoint the error. It's a far worse feeling than the flustered awkwardness he's just experienced. Dean, at his very core, wants to take care of those he cares for, wants to make things right.

Which is why, without much thought or intention, he moves. He folds the covers aside, slides in between the sheets, and settles against the curve of Cas's back, careful to keep his hips angled away. Lightly, he curves his palm over Cas's bicep and holds, wedging his other arm beneath their pillows. Cas tenses instantly.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"I—I don't—"

"Shh, it's fine."

"But—"

"Just relax and get some rest. It's still early…and you look terrible."

Though it takes a few moments, with Dean's palm sliding up and down Cas's arm to soothe him like some wild animal, Cas finally settles, going limp against Dean's frame.

"You're right," Cas whispers. "I don't understand you."

"Yeah, well that makes two of us."

It doesn't take long for Cas to fall back to asleep with the codeine in his system. Though Dean's relieved that he's getting rest, the reality of their position still hits him. What was he thinking, putting himself right back in the situation he fought so stubbornly to avoid? It's not the first time Cas has had this effect on him, making him do rash things without foresight for consequences or implications. It makes him nervous. It makes him not trust himself. It makes him feel invigorated and a little pissed off and stupidly warm.

Eventually the tempest of his thoughts quells enough to allow him to doze. He chooses not to acknowledge the way he nuzzles into the collar of Cas's t-shirt, or how the warmth that seeps into his skin from Cas's fevered body soothes old aches and scars that had only ever hurt before. Dean is exceptional at keeping things from himself.

When he wakes, it's to the sound of knocking and a door creaking open.

"Oh…um—well, then," stammers a voice Dean would recognize anywhere. He lunges away from Cas as fast as he can, before he's even opened his eyes, and sends himself crashing painfully to the floor in a heap.

"Damnit, Sammy! What's the point of knocking if you don't wait for a reply?" he yells. He can't see the door from his vantage point beside the bed, and he's immeasurably thankful for it. The last thing he needs piled onto this epically embarrassing moment is Sam witnessing the way a blush is spreading from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. He's already well aware that his younger brother is not going to let this go any time soon (ever).

Cas's head peeks over the edge of the mattress. He's looking at Dean with that familiar furrow in his brow, his hair in absolute chaos. The heat in Dean's cheeks flares.

"Your face is very red," Cas declares, because he's just that much of an asshole.

"Hey, thanks, Cas! I really appreciate you pointing that out!" Dean's eye twitches.

"I, uh…just wanted to check on Cas. Make sure he was taken care of…I see that wasn't a problem."

Dean goes up on his knees, elevating himself just enough to glare daggers at his brother over the top of Cas's head.

"I know a thousand and one ways to kill you, Samantha. So, yeah, just…you just let that marinate."

"Consider it marinated," Sam replies. Though he's doing an unusually impressive job of hiding it, Dean knows him far too well to miss the way his lip trembles in an effort to keep from smirking. Dean wants to crawl under the bed and die.

"I'm afraid I'm not much better than last night," Cas groans, seemingly oblivious to the unspoken exchange between the two brothers. He rolls onto his back and drapes his forearm over his eyes. "How long am I going to feel like this?"

Dean chuckles, stands, and goes to the couch. "I'm afraid you'll be recovering from this one for a few weeks, buddy," he states as plops down onto the cushions.

"Weeks?!" Cas shrieks suddenly, shooting up into a sitting position. He immediately throws himself into a gut-wrenching coughing fit in his upset. Dean can hear each hack reverberating thick and deep in his chest, heaving violently up his throat. It's physically painful just to listen to.

Sam is actually the one to go to him, placing his palm on the back of Cas's neck and petting him through it.

"I want my grace back," Castiel croaks quietly. Dean and Sam make eye contact, looks of pity and concern passing between them.

"I know, man," Dean sighs. He gets up and shuffles to the bed, grabbing the inhaler before sitting down next to his best friend. "Take a couple puffs on this for me, will ya?"

Cas hesitates, but soon obeys, straightening his posture and turning towards him so Dean can place the mouthpiece between his lips. Dean notices that there are small tears beaded in the corners of Cas's eyes. He knows rationally that they're most likely from the coughing, but that doesn't stop his heart from curdling in his chest. He wants to fix this…and he can't.

Cas takes his medication from the inhaler flawlessly, just as Dean had taught him, and it's clear that the relief it offers his lungs is instant, given the way his shoulders sag when he exhales.

"Uh…I'm no doctor, but I'm a little worried you might have asthma, Castiel," Sam says softly, taking his hand away from Cas's nape and eyeing him suspiciously.

"Did Jimmy have asthma?" Dean asks. He returns the inhaler to the nightstand and begins rubbing Castiel's back. Cas sinks into the contact like it's a warm bath.

"I…I'm not sure. It wasn't really something I needed to know. At least…not before, anyway."

"We're gonna' need to take him to a doctor at some point, Dean," Sam tells him.

"Yeah, but not now. He's got the antibiotics and the inhaler for the time being. Moving him would do more harm than good at this point."

"Alright, if you're sure."

"Trust me, I'm sure."

"I trust Dean," Cas affirms, his eyes heavily lidded from the sweep of Dean's hand on his back. He sounds half-conscious.

When Sam doesn't speak for a moment, Dean's gaze slides to him. He's watching them with a soft, fond smile on his face, but quickly reels it in when he realizes Dean's caught him.

"Ok, then. Well, I'm gonna' make some breakfast," he announces.

"I'll give you a hand—"

"No, Dean, you stay with him. If you're not willing to take him to a doctor just yet, then I don't think you should leave him alone for too long, just in case. I'll bring you guys something."

Dean side-eyes his brother, suspecting an ulterior motive, but he decides to let it slide for the sake of having food brought to him. Dean likes food.

"Eggs for me…and coffee. And Cas could probably use some tea and fruit or something." Sam raises his eyebrows at him. "Uh…please."

"I'll see what I can do," he grumbles before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, buddy, why don't you lie down, yeah?" Dean pushes at Cas's chest softly, coercing him back against his pillow. Cas's eyes are droopy and dazed. He watches Dean as he turns, curling around him where he sits, and holding Dean's hand tight to his sternum. "You okay?"

"I feel weak." He gazes at Dean, with eyes so defeated and deep, as though Dean holds all the answers to his troubles…like Dean could make it stop. "I am weak."

"I'm sorry," is all Dean has to offer, though. There are nothing but useless platitudes he could babble in this situation. He knows that being human alone must be impossibly debilitating for Cas, let alone being _sick_ for the first time. Healing is not something Cas is used to waiting for. "I promise that it will get easier. You will get better." Dean says the words with so much conviction that he finds himself believing them.

"You—you make it easier, better," Cas confesses torpidly. His voice sounds strange, like he's having trouble controlling his thoughts or his words.

"How's that fever, doing?" Dean asks playfully instead of actually responding. Cas's words make his heart flutter and chest tingle, which is not a response he cares to contemplate.

He pushes Cas's hair back from his forehead and lays his palm flat against the heated skin. It's clammy, burning. Cas continues to watch him, not looking away for a second. "Not so good, huh?" He rakes his fingers up through dark locks. "We might need to get you into a cool bath if that doesn't go down soon."

The thought of Cas in a tub, naked, is enough to make Dean's cheeks flush so hard his freckles are probably sizzling off. It's regrettable that he wholeheartedly agrees with Sammy's point that he should stay at Cas's side, because he could really use a moment alone right now.

It's only then that he realizes he does actually have to piss like crazy. It's the perfect excuse for time to collect himself.

"Hey, I, uh, gotta' use the little boy's room. Think you can hang tight here until I get back?"

"Oh…um, actually, now that you mention it…I believe I need to urinate as well."

_Well, there goes that fucking plan_, Dean thinks acerbically.

"Would you assist me?" Cas adds, because apparently Dean is cursed to think about his best friend's dick at every opportunity.

"Oh, I—well, that's not—I really don't think—"

"I meant with getting to the bathroom, Dean. I may be new to this whole human thing, but I am perfectly capable of holding my own—"

"Yup! Okay, great, Cas, really proud of you for that achievement."

"That's not—"

"Yes, okay, I'll help you. Just, uh, here let me give you a hand…I mean an arm. I mean I'll help you up." _Fuck_.

"Dean, I didn't—"

"I know, just ignore me. Things are coming out of my mouth. Weird things. Things no one ever needs to hear in the history of…ever."

"You can be very strange."

Unexpectedly, a laugh bursts from Dean's throat. Cas's humor is almost always accidental, but that doesn't mean it doesn't tickle Dean in all the right places.

"Shut up and get over here."

Dean hooks an arm around Cas's waist and drags him to the edge of the bed. He stands, setting his footing, before taking hold of Cas's armpits and pulling him up. Predictably, Cas sways once he's on his feet, head bobbing to the side, but Dean is ready to support him. He holds Cas tight to his chest, arms circling his torso, while Cas rests his forehead against Dean's shoulder to gather himself.

When he does eventually find equilibrium, Cas places his hands on Dean's collar bones and straightens, bringing their faces mere inches apart. They breathe each other's air and their eyes meet and hold. Dean swallows, jaw clenching.

"Your eyes are very green," Cas murmurs dreamily, his head tilting and gaze flickering back and forth between Dean's eyes.

"Uh…thanks?" Dean's voice cracks incriminatingly. He feels a shudder shoot down his spine. "Um…think you can walk now?"

"Yes, but please don't let go of me."

"I won't."

Though the bathroom is only a few paces down the hall, by the time they reach it Cas is exhausted, panting and leaning most of his weight against Dean's side.

"Can you hang on here alone for a minute while I do my business?" Dean asks, propping Cas against the wall outside the bathroom, and keeping a sturdy grip on his shoulders.

"Yes, Dean."

Though Cas seems pretty confident, Dean is slow to release him.

Once inside the bathroom with the door shut behind him, he makes quick work of peeing, brushing his teeth, and washing his face. He feels anxious and jittery leaving Cas alone, but it wasn't exactly like he could bring the man in with him.

"Your turn," he says when he opens the door and returns to Cas, who looks like he's barely keeping eyes open. Cas clutches his t-shirt when Dean draws him closer and begins guiding him inside. "Okay, I'll be right outside if you need me, so just call if you have any trouble. And I put out an extra toothbrush for you. You do know how to brush your teeth, right?"

"My knowledge is satisfactory."

"Right. Okay then, I'll just…leave you to it."

Dean stumbles out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning back against it. He runs his hands over his face, trying to take a deep breath and distract himself from the images of Cas with his pants down. His behavior around his best friend has always been a little unpredictable, suspect, especially in the last year or so, but it's never been this out of control. It feels as though his brain is misfiring, sending the wrong signals to this limbs and mouth, making him react in ways he has no business reacting.

"Dean?" Cas's deep, familiar voice calls, muffled, from behind him. He rips the door open in an instant, barreling into the bathroom with his heart pounding in his ears.

"You okay?" he demands, a little breathless. Cas is sitting on the lidded toilet, his head hanging between his knees. Approaching him, Dean presses his fingertips to Cas's temple.

"I-I just felt a little dizzy. But I finished everything I needed to do."

"Good. That's good. Come on, then, let's get you back in bed."

When Dean attempts to pick Cas up again he nearly drops him, not expecting how little agency the man has over his limbs.

"Tired," Cas explains, lips catching sluggishly on the word.

"I can see that."

Before he can second guess himself, Dean gets one arm under Cas's ass and wraps the other around his waist, lifting him up off the tiled floor. Cas's arms instinctively hook around his shoulders, his head settling into the curve of Dean's neck and his ankles linking together against the back of Dean's thighs.

Dean turns, keeping Cas's chest flush with his own, and shuffles down the hall back to his bedroom. His skin tingles everywhere their bodies are pressed together. Goosebumps rise on his neck where Cas's hot, minty breath is puffing against it.

When he finally makes it to the bed, he attempts to lean forward and drop Cas back onto the mattress, but apparently Cas doesn't get the memo, refusing to relinquish his hold on Dean's neck or untangle his ankles. With a yelp, Dean tumbles down to the bed on top of Cas before he can right his balance.

_Oh, sweet mother of fuck_, he thinks unhelpfully. Cas is staring up at him, their mouths a hairsbreadth apart. Dean's arms are caught under Cas's body. He's pinned by Cas's grip, by his weight, by his shock. His thoughts are whitewashed, his every nerve thrumming with the intensity of the moment. Their pelvises are perfectly locked together and warmth is pooling in his belly faster than he can think.

So, of course, Sam chooses that moment to bring them their breakfast.

"Oh!" Sam yips, voice higher than Dean's ever heard it.

"Goddamnit, Sam!" Dean bellows, launching himself off of Cas and tumbling, yet again, to the floor. He's fairly certain his ass is bruised.

"I'm sorry! I—I told you I was bringing you breakfast. And you left the door open!"

"That's because nothing was happening!"

Sam shoots him the most acidic bitch face the world has ever seen.

"It's true!" Dean scrambles up from the floor and advances on him. Sam flinches back but holds his ground when he realizes Dean is only trying to take the tray of food from him and not punch him in the face.

"So…you, what, just tripped and fell on top of Cas?" Sam's tone is skeptical and ridiculously amused.

"Yes, actually. That is exactly what happened. I was carrying him back from the bathroom, and when I tried to put him down he refused let go, so I fell. Satisfied?"

"I dunno'. Are _you_?" Sam asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. Dean wants to stuff scrambled eggs down his pants.

"Thank you for the food," Dean hisses through clenched teeth. Sam starts backing away, his hands up in a placating gesture.

"No problem. Just let me know if you guys need anything else…water, medication, condoms…"

Dean tries to charge him but is forced to halt to avoid spilling the tray. Sam successfully retreats, slamming the door behind him.

"Why would we need condoms?" Cas inquires from where he's sprawled on the bed.

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I have no idea, Cas."

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading, you fabulous, sassy things. If you croaked I'd barter my soul with a demon to bring your sweet tookus back from hell.**

**Oh, and I did some fan art for this chapter, so if you'd like to take a gander at it you can find it on my tumblr (link is in my profile)**


End file.
